


nostalgia [newt.]

by holymood



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Glader Slang, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Original Character(s), The Glade, The Maze Runner Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymood/pseuds/holymood
Summary: ‘he saved me...in every waythat a personcan be saved’—the titanicaudelia paige, daughter the infamous dr paige, had worked at WICKED for as long as she could remember. she controlled one thing: group A’s maze/glade. she manipulated the goings on, put every griever inside the walls, closed the maze at night, rearranged the layout and sent up the box every month.she saw every boy for their true selves—knowing their personality, secrets and their ID. one boy stayed in her eyesight. one she longed to meet, to have the pleasure of having one conversation with. he was so broken, she saw the scars on his forearms and his anxious looks. she would do almost anything to put all the cameras of the glade onto his golden hair.she never thought she would meet subject A5.until, one day she did.expect, all her memories were gone and she was in the same position as all the other boys that she had sent up in the box.she was a prisoner of the glade.
Relationships: Brenda & Minho (Maze Runner), Brenda/Gally (Maze Runner), Newt (Maze Runner)/Original Character(s), Teresa Agnes/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a newt x oc fanfic.  
> maze runner/scorch trials  
> I own no characters other than my original characters! all rights to james dasher. 
> 
> my wattpad is @holymood

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊 [𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖊]

  
Fallen angels would gather in the skies at sunrise when the clouds were highlighted with ribbons of gold and red and the sun was bleeding over the world. Constellations would still leave white in the bloodied background, each design strung up with wonder. And yet, darkness argued for a shred of the pleasant setting. He got chunks of lightness, balancing the weighing scales of fate as he spread his own shadow across the land. Bargains were made, debts were put into place, and light and dark shook for an agreement.

And alas, the fallen angels became demons. They dropped their rose petals and honey liquors and took on facades of dark embodied souls. Angels slowly decomposed in the sunlight, and earth became a playground for the demons and gloomy beings. Everything sought to exist, except death. Death was always there. Always extending a withered, rotted hand in the direction of any and every shattered mind homing a torn soul.

Audelia was just that soul.

Say that the stories of demons and creatures of the night were all metaphorical. A little fairytale inspired by the nightmarish real world. Say death was a normal, human woman. The devil was a man, and his associates were all teenagers trapped in their past. Their own immunity to some deadly fault in the world.

Though, she was often described as the angel of death—with green eyes like the points of rotted scythes and a mind split by the emaciated fingers of chemical satisfaction. Over the years she had become more like the harrowed angel that devoured manipulative, greedy men that had let their pride engulf them. Though she would argue that she was just like them. Estranged from society, estranged from her own fucking head. Led on by the hallucinations of a decaying mind and dropped at the feet of some fallen angel. So no, she was not an angel. Death was too grandiloquent for her broken self, though it had become interesting to watch her mother be described as such. Death, and her angel daughter.

She thought just this as she surveyed the screens to group A's maze. The blue lights coming off the networks shone into her eyes, as well as the sounds coming from the internal speakers of the high glade walls. Her eyes skidded down to each screen, watching the boys sprint around or prepare for the late-night bonfire. She took no time identifying the prisoners of the glade, only noting their heads of hair or unique ways of walking.

One of the boys had always stuck out to her, though. In the green shrubbery of the glade, she always saw the blonde head of hair. The boy never looked the cameras straight in the eye, so his face details were never shown. But she knew who he was. Subject A5, a runner with optimism, and the owner of the wisps of golden hair. Over the speakers she had heard his name. Newt.

She had looked over him for a year since she sent up the box with him inside of it. She had never met him, even when she controlled his entrance into the glade. His profile was much like her own: seventeen, one sister, the glue holding together his peers, and a strong need to make himself known. She related to a boy she never had the pleasure of knowing.

Now she noted down the movements of every boy in the glade, looking over the screens that showed the goings-on in there. It was like watching a movie that she could control and adapt with a simple push of a button. The biggest screen presented the grand layout of the glade's field, the boys midgets in the high-up positioned cameras. The next screens on the corners were showing the box, the map room, the slammer, homestead, and the gardens. People were in each location, some busier with more action.

She was set to send in another immune boy later that day but had had no signal from her mother. The boy was being drugged and prepared with every passing minute, Audelia was sure of it. Plans had been going underway for many weeks for the one new prisoner. Audelia was yet to meet him, though she was tasked with checking up on him before sending the box up. She had done nothing of the sort before, but Janson insisted.

So she just ignored her troubles for the minute, looking at the screen showing homestead. There were two boys in there, one that normally spent his time in the kitchen, and another blonde. They both shared the same serious expression, one that never wore off. They discussed something with hushed tones as if they knew she was watching. No, she reminded herself, no one would ever know. No one had worked it out in her two years on the job. Soon to be three years.

The intercom buzzed, making her jump. It never went off unless someone important was trying to reach her. Janson didn't even have access to the special radios inside of the WICKED facilities. A voice crackled in and out of focus, barely forming one secure sentence. "A-Angel..." It whispered her code name. "R-Ru... u-u... n,"

Angel, run.

Audelia didn't respond. Her hands shook too much to even hold onto the small radio. It continued to buzz and crackle until the line went dead. The messaged replayed in her head over and over until the words jumbled with infinite adaptations of the two words. What could they mean?

Her heartbeats covered the sound of the door opening behind her. She didn't even notice the intruders until their breaths hit her back. Until their hands found her arms.

Until—

Until they were dragging her away.


	2. rising to hell

The box shifted upwards, cogs turning rapidly and moving over each other. They were the only sound in the confined space, all else being suffocated into silence. Her own breaths were background noise, mild little things that weren't loud enough to overpower her thoughts. She startled awake, trying to put the pieces of herself back together.

_Her name._ Her name was— Audelia.

It felt strange in her head, something random plucked out of underground catacombs of thought. Perhaps it wasn't even her name, one that sounded right but really was a far cry her birth-given identity. There were numerous possibilities of a name, of syllables to form something to live by. Audelia didn't even sound right, but she stayed with it. It was the best she had, rolling around in the box.

Perhaps she had had a life before the blackness and the unbeknownst. Whatever faces belonged to her past were blank, silhouettes in the blankness of her empty mind. A mother, a father, any person was snapped in half. The binds that would have been made by lifelong experiences were broken by one blink of her eyes. Empty catacombs and hollow souls.

The stench of sweat enveloped the small space, along with some other bitter smells of fear. She shifted in the box uncomfortably, feeling her stomach flip as it travelled upwards quicker than her thoughts could join along. Fear was the only other thing in that container with her. Except from a large stack of cardboard boxes, perhaps a place to hide.

No thought stayed for too long, and so she cried out when each one pushed its way to the centre of her mind. Her head thudded against the side of the box as it jilted upward. She looked around the inside of it, seeing the heaps of boxes and metal parts. The container was going up some shaft, much like that of a mine's—expect it was a lot more technological.

There was no end to the upwards journey, it felt like she had been rising for an hour. Possibly two. Her mind reeled and her head pounded, and she slowly slid down to slump against the wall. Her breaths slowed, and after a long exhale, she forced her eyes to shut.

✢

She woke up to the blinding light of the sun, as well as fifty or-so heads. They peered down into the metal crate where she lay, but did not seem to see her. Their eyes instead fell on the numerous boxes, and many lit up at the sight of them. Something important was in those things, and she secretly thought that she might be important too.

"Hey! There's no greenie!" A shout came from above, followed by dozens of murmured agreements. Greenie?

"Slim it Chuck, I'm sure there is." A response came, though appeared to have more authority over the large population of boys. "They get nervous ya know? Probably hiding or something,"

"But—"

"I said slim it! Newt, go down and check for us,"

Audelia moved her head so she could observe the boys above her. The one that had been talking before was young and round, with perfectly rosed cheeks. The people closest to him seemed to be affected by his aura of calmness, smiling and talking amongst themselves quietly. The boy who had commanded Chuck was leaning over the crate the most, his dark skin showing the dips and scars of his face and framing them perfectly. He looked like an old piece of artwork found in a museum, painted by a steady and storytelling hand.

A third boy jumped down into the box, making Audelia jump in surprise. She remained behind the boxes, but had a perfect view of him. He had blonde hair, like wisps of gold or sewn sunlight. He was fairly scrawny, yet held himself well as he looked around the small box. His eyes intrigued her the most. Brown, but unlike a muddy shade, more of an ethereal tawny shine.

"I'm not seeing anything Alby," he called up to the dark-skinned boy, putting his left hand behind his neck.

The boy—Alby—responded immediately, "find the greenie. There has to be one. It's not that hard."

Audelia thought the whole thing a right fuss. Her heard was pounding and her vision faltering, but she reckoned she could find herself in less time than it took this Newt boy to run a hand through his hair. Even so, she made no move to reveal herself. Her knees were trembling and her hands shook at her sides. She felt weak—but did not recall ever feeling powerful.

"I'm coming up with the boxes," Newt stated before taking one of the cardboard boxes into his arms. In a quick movement he was back up with the rest of the moronic boys. "I ain't seen nothing down there, no greenie and no note."

"There hasn't been one since Nick's—" Alby brought a hand up to support his jaw and silenced himself, as if he were thinking about something. _Someone_. "That's gotta be a problem. Maybe a punishment for what he tried to do?"

A few of the boys nodded, sorrowful looks in their eyes. Who was Nick? They all seemed to know him, mourn for him. For a second she was forgotten, but in a heartbeat another boy opened his mouth.

"Maybe they are gonna stop bringing up new people, ya know? There's so many of us here already."

"What kind of a slinthead are you? They've been doing this klunk for years now," Another boy snorted, out of Audelia's view. "They won't just stop 'cause one idiot decided to die."

Silence followed, and Audelia sucked in her breath to keep herself silent. The boy who had spoke seemed to realise what he had done, and slapped his hand over his mouth. Audelia looked up and saw him. He had the same seriousness of Alby, but no authority over the large huddle. His dark skin had burns over it, and Audelia assessed that he must have belonged to somewhere either under the sun or the oven.

"Frypan shut your mouth." Newt looked him up and down, accusingly. "We all know that Nick didn't get that idea all on his own. He had a few conversations with your jacked self."

"You shank I didn't mean for him to—"

Alby slapped his hands together. "You are getting off subject." He cleared his throat and kneeled down to look more into the box. "There's no new lad. Grab the rest of boxes and close it, I'm not waiting around. Minho needs attending to and the med-jacks are being slintheads,"

Newt followed Alby's words, jumping down into the shaft and throwing the boxes up. He glowered at Frypan, intentionally whacking a box in his face as he passed it to Alby. Throughout the movement, Audelia kept her mouth shut. Fear had strapped her to the side of the wall, and its rotted nails dug into her arms. After a minute of throwing and catching, Newt climbed up the shaft with Alby's arm as a support. He landed on the grass above, and Audelia noticed the bandages that had been sloppily tied around his forearms. The med-jacks really were ' _slintheads_ '—whatever that meant.

Her thoughts kept her occupied as Newt pulled some sort of hidden leaver inside the doors of the box, and it slid closed over her head.

The dark was petrifying, the silence louder than the bolts sliding over each other just above her head.

She was alone. Her first memory was in the dark, and now her hopefully her last would follow suit.


End file.
